


Better

by Mutant_Toad



Series: Horrible Will [2]
Category: Hellboy (Movies), Hellraiser (Movies), The Hellbound Heart
Genre: Body Modification, Lament Configuration, Lemarchand's Box, Masochism, Sadism, Scars, Surgery Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1687259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mutant_Toad/pseuds/Mutant_Toad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Subject, Karl Ruprecht Kroenen. Born in Munich, 1897. Suffered from a masochistic compulsion commonly known as "surgical addiction". Both eyelids surgically removed, along with his upper and lower lip, making speech impossible. The blood in his veins dried up decades ago. Only dust remains. Four broken vertebrae. A steel rod inserted into his pelvis kept him upright... what horrible will could keep such a creature as this alive? "</p><p>What pleasures could this world hold for them anymore?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better

The small hand mirror reflected the image that she was slowly becoming familiar with. It was a far cry from how she had imagined she would look at twenty-four. Even more surprising was that she had not only become accustom to these changes, but she looked forward to them as well. Her Dearest was teaching her to appreciate the fine art of alteration. The art of making a body better.

Reaching up, she touched the long, pulling scar on the left side of her face that extended from the corner of her mouth up to her eye socket. Her fingerprintless tips felt the scarred ridges. She found each little dip and tip beautiful. Her fingers moved to the identical scar on her right cheek. Her Dearest found the symmetry of the scars arousing. It had taken weeks of fixing the marks daily to get them to scar this way.

“Eliana…” she muttered softly into the mirror. It felt like forever ago that had been her name. That wasn’t what her Dearest called her anymore though. He called her his Princess of Perfection. In her youth, she had never dreamed that she would be perfect in any way shape or form. It was only at the hands of her Dearest that she was becoming perfect. Both of them. Together. They would be perfect humans. 

She set the mirror down and climbed up from the chair she’d been sitting on. Her face had only just finished healing, so her Dearest wanted to wait before going further. However, her Dearest wanted to go forth with his next modification. She found herself more and more attracted to him the more he altered himself to his idea of perfection. While she had no talent for surgical procedures, she did enjoy watching. 

Today was the removal of his fingernails. Eliana couldn’t help but feel excited, for it was the first time since the removing of their fingerprints that she was to assist him. There was no reason for her to. It was merely a sign of his affection for her to allow the assistance. 

The small room that they were currently staying in was ready for him. She’d prepared everything as he’d instructed her to.The white bedsheet on the mattress they shared, he always liked seeing the blood spots. The liquor to sterilize the knives and needles, give the room a sharp smell. A simple oil lamp to light the room, he liked the dim setting it provided. The black thread and tiny sewing needle for the patch up. An old, worn, brown leather glove, because he liked her to work him into a fever while he worked on himself. And, lastly, the knives he always worked with. Each knife was perfectly crafted. It was her duty to ensure their sharpness and cleanliness. There was little else in the world that he disliked more than a less than perfect blade.

The scarred woman set everything up the way he always liked it and began to remove her own clothing. Her Dearest liked to work with a view. In all their years together, they had never once made love in the conventional sense. This process, this work, it was their love making. As he worked to remove the imperfections of their human bodies, they would spill their lust for each other. 

She stripped herself of the simple shirt and pants she wore on a daily basis and reached up to run her fingers through her short cut hair. Eliana was not the picture of feminine beauty for the time. Her body was wracked with scars. Her hair was cut to the point of non-existent. Along with the marks on her cheeks, there were signs of modifications all over her form. Her Dearest believed the perfect human form was one that could exceed the limits of the human body. Exceed life and death. One that did not know disease or fatigue. Hair was unnecessary. Fingerprints, eating, sleeping, sex, even skin...these were unnecessary things to the both of them. They believed that combining mechanics with organic matter was the only way to ensure perfection. But first, one needed to remove the unnecessary human matter. This carried over to their physical forms.

She picked up the glove he enjoyed and slipped it over her hand. It fit tight. She wedged her fingers together, listening to the leather crack a little as it formed to her hand. She pulled the strap on the back tight, a tingly sensation would follow soon at the slowing of the circulation. The Princess turned her hand over to study the palm of the glove. It was studded with small, square pieces of metal. Each one smooth, but coming to a dull point. Nothing to cut the sensitive flesh it was used to pleasure, but a sensation instead.

The ridges of metal that connected into the leather would catch on him and each time it did, she would feel a shiver of pleasure go through her own body as his breath caught. Just the thought of it now made her feel warm. It had been difficult to accept the first time he’d begged her to whip him across his hind quarters with an oak branch as teenagers. She could hardly believe now that she had hesitated. 

The gloved hand seemed to move on it’s own accord. Down her body and towards her most private of areas. Touching herself with the glove on was, in her mind, the same as if he was using his own body to penetrate her. The gloved hand was used to pleasure the both of them in various ways. It was part of their lovemaking.

She was not given the chance to partake in her own pleasure though. Not right now. The door opened and interrupted her memories of the first time he spilled his lust against her legs as he was bent over her lap and she lashed his backside. Her mother had berated her for getting her dress dirty that night. She’d first pleasured herself that night to the thought of it. Feeling guilt the next morning at church as she thought about how good it had felt to feel him soil her dress and how good it had felt to pleasure herself that night with her hairbrush. She’d begged god to forgive her for a sin she refused to confess to. 

These memories were pushed away as she glanced over at her Dearest as he locked the door tight. His appearance was a far cry from the beautiful man he’d once been. People in their town had called him an angel with his mounds of blond hair and sparkling blue eyes and heavenly singing voice. No more. From head to toe, he was covered in a black, body forming suit. There wasn’t a sliver of flesh shown. His face was covered with a specially made gasmask of his own design. Her Dearest couldn’t stand the thought of his body being contaminated. He subjected his flesh to it for his operations, but never his face. It had been nearly a year since even she’d seen it. He said that would change soon once he decided which parts of his face needed correcting based on the ones he made to hers.

He had something in his hand that she couldn’t make out. It appeared to be a black box of sorts. She never knew him to be one for material affection. Had he, for once in their time together, bought her a present? The scarred Princess was at a loss for words as he moved towards her and wrapped his free arm around her bare body. 

She stood on her toes and kissed the front of the mask passionately. It didn’t matter that his lips were not connecting with her own. She could feel the heat of his body through the suit he wore. He was excited. The prospect of a new operation always aroused him, but usually not so soon before it began. Something else was on his mind. 

Her heated kiss against the metal ventilation piece left her lips bloody from small scratches. He held the box up and she wrapped her fingers around it. It appeared, at first, solid. A simple, black, lacquered box. The shine of it reminded her of the way his mask looked. It was beautiful, but she didn’t really understand it’s purpose, “Dearest?”

“Pleasure. New pleasure,” gone was the angelic voice of his youth. Replaced with hissing release from the mask. It was rare for him to speak at all, “Lemarchand’s Box,” he took her ungloved hand and used a small knife from his pocket to slice open one of her smooth fingertips. He squeezed the drops of blood out over the box’s surface.

Her eyes widened. The name was not unfamiliar to her. The blood dripping over it revealed tiny seams and cracks. Not age wear or breaks. They were puzzle pieces.

"Solve it," he stated firmly.

"Together..." she moaned softly.


End file.
